


dance your way into my life

by Crimson_Voltaire



Series: Kinktober 2017 [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Jazz Clubs, Masturbation, Multi, One Night Stands, Swing Dancing, Swingers, Threesome, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Voltaire/pseuds/Crimson_Voltaire
Summary: Percival has done many things over the long course of his life, but he never thought in a million years that this would be one of them.





	dance your way into my life

**Author's Note:**

> My first shot at a threesome! As always, unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Let me know how I did! :D

**October 5th - Cuckolding (Jacob/Queenie/Percival)**

Percival has done many things over the long course of his life, but he never thought in a million years that this would be one of them. Fucking Queenie Goldstein while her no-maj watches from an arm chair. It’s bizarre.  
  
It goes like this.  
  
He’s had a long day – a very, very long day to end a long week. Percival is half up the wall and in desperate need of a drink. And maybe a lay, but it’s slim pickings these days, since Grindelwald.  
  
_Hell, who is he kidding?_  
  
Percival Graves hasn’t fucked anyone with his true face on since he took over the Directorship nine years ago – it's too risky. He’d become a master at transfiguration, changing little bits about his appearance until even one of his aurors couldn’t tell him from Adam. Although, Graves supposes as he dons his great coat and smooths out the wrinkles, that isn’t counting for much, considering they couldn’t sniff out a doppelgänger skulking right under their noses.  
  
Graves sighs heavily, rubbing a rough fist against weary eyes and stubbly jaw, and decides he’s going to indulge himself tonight. His reputation is already in the bin, why not go down swinging?

* * *

So Graves makes his lazy way through town, past New Yorkers, both magical and not, with his hands stuffed in his pockets. The wind bites at his cheeks, wiggles its way into his bones and makes them achy. So the overly warm no-maj jazz club he finds himself stepping into is welcome. Percival sidles up to the bar, ordering their finest whiskey with a soft gravel and a little grin for the frazzled bar maid. She blushes, accepting the handful of no-maj bills he slides across the counter to her, and takes his drink to a quiet back corner where he can watch the goings on of the bar.  
  
He’s on his second drink when they come in – a beautiful young woman with shining golden curls and curves that should be illegal, and her portly fella with his stylish moustache and a grin as wide as the equator. Percival knows them instantly, Goldstein the younger and her no-maj beau.  
  
Queenie’s head swings around, pretty brown eyes going wide when her gaze locks on to his. Graves keeps his expression neutral – he knows she can’t hear him, but that’s exactly how she found him. A brick wall of silence in a room that’s got to be buzzing with thoughts. Queenie’s grip tightens on the no-maj’s hand; she’s tugging him towards the door without pause for explanation. The no-maj glances up at her in confusion, before he seems to surrender to her whims and follow her back out of the bar.  
  
_Interesting_.  
  
Percival swallows the rest of his drink in one go, crushing an ice cube between his sharp molars before pushing himself to his feet and following them out into the chill. For the life of him, he couldn’t tell you why, but he does. Queenie makes a little gasp when she realizes he’s behind them, hurrying her footsteps, tugging the man along. He seems to realize they’re in trouble, and swings around, putting himself between Graves and his lover. Percival is impressed.  
  
“I don’t mean any harm,” he says, pulling his hands from his pockets, showing them his palms. His wand sits comfortably on his hip, warm and ready if he needs it, but it’s curiosity burning in his gut, not the righteous law.  
  
“Yeah?” The no-maj growls, “Then why you followin’ us, fella?”  
  
He shrugs in response, a little helpless, “You ran out for no reason.”  
  
Over the man’s shoulder – Percival tries and fails to remember his name – Queenie’s face twists into some mockery of humor, “I wasn’t expecting the Director of Magical Security to be in a no-maj bar. It’s a mighty strange place to find you, Mr. Graves.”  
  
He likes the way she says his name – the word gets caught up in her thick Brooklyn accent, swirled around and spat back out in a way that makes his cock twitch in interest. Merlin, Graves thinks, what the fuck got into him? He covers it up with a shrug, giving them a helpless little smile. It’s disarming, a tactic he’s used many times over his time as an Auror. Graves is pretty and he knows it.  
  
“Needed a drink,” he says. _And a fuck_. The fact that Queenie’s face doesn’t change reassures him that his occlumency is as close to water tight as can be. “Too many familiar faces in magical establishments.”

Already enough people dragging his name through the mud, thank you very much. The fella’s shoulders droop, like he understands.  
  
“I know that feeling,” the no-maj says, and then offers Graves a broad smile.  
“Say, why don’t we go back in there, and I’ll buy you a drink. Since it ain’t likely that you’re gonna arrest us and all that.”  
  
Graves hums, “I’ll take you up on that.”

* * *

Somehow, he and Jacob become well acquainted in the few hours they spend in the jazz bar. None of them are heavy drinkers; after his third whiskey, Graves finds himself being pulled to his feet and twirled out onto the dance floor. Jacob has a mean foxtrot, but Graves knows swing and pulls Queenie out of the no-maj’s arms long enough to leave them breathless.  
  
They dance until Jacob can’t and Percival’s knees are screaming. Then they wander back outside, standing under the dim yellow light of a streetlamp while Percival lights up a cigarette. It’s starting to snow.  
  
“Where to now?” Jacob asks, face flushed. His eyes travel the length of Percival’s body, before he averts them. His blush grows deeper. Percival can feel stirrings in his own lower belly.  
  
Interesting.  
  
“Home?”  
  
The two share a glance and a silent conversation, before Queenie grins brightly and nods to Graves.  
  
“Home.”  
  
Graves takes one of them on each arm and thinks of the brownstone. 

* * *

That’s how they end up here, each of them naked as the day they were born, skin glistening in the yellow-red flicker of the roaring fire Graves’ set in the hearth. Jacob reclines back in the plush armchair, hands on his belly and taking in the scene.  
  
Percival’s hands scrape over Queenie’s sides. Merlin, she’s so small, tiny wrists and tiny waist, tiny little gasps when he finds that spot on the inside of her thigh and nibbles at it. Her muscles quiver and contract, like she’s fighting off the urge to clamp her legs down around his head. Queenie spares him suffocation, but Percival thinks dying with his head between her legs wouldn’t be such a terrible way to go.  
  
“Ngh- don’t tease,” she warns. Fingers card through Percival’s hair, mussing the long strands on top from the pomade and then tugging at the resulting mop. It sends pleasant tingles of pain down the back of his neck, makes him chuckle against her.  
  
“As you wish.”  
  
Percival slides two fingers between her flushed folds, pushing them into her and crooking his fingers. Queenie’s back comes off the bedding, her mouth falling open and little nipples pebbling. He chuckles again and repeats the motion, pulling his fingers out almost all the way before pressing back in and crooking them. Her gasps and little groans are his way of keeping rhythm – when Queenie’s breathing picks up, so do his fingers.  
  
Like this, on his stomach, it’s almost easy to forget that Jacob is in the room. It’s only when he offers a few words of advice, “A little higher, yeah there,” that Percival remembers him. It’s a jolt of electricity down his spine; makes his belly twinge and his cock jump. Merlin and Morgana, it’s so fucked up – being turned on by a fucking another man’s gal. But he’s never done anything by halves.  
  
Percival does as he’s instructed, finding that rough patch inside Queenie that drives her absolutely mad. A few good strokes and some suckling on her clit and she’s falling apart, thighs clenching around his ears. His breathing gets tighter and more difficult, and Graves reaffirms his previous statement. This wouldn’t be a bad way to go at all, surrounded by her warmth, her scent.  
  
“Fuck-fuck-fuck, oh _Perce_!”  
  
Wetness gushes from Queenie when he removes his fingers, wiping them down on the blankets. Percival takes in the scene with hunger, watching the way her entrance pulses and contracts, practically begging for his cock. He sits back on his heels, admiring for a moment. Queenie scrambles up after him, following Percival.  
  
“C’mon baby,” she croons, teasing, seductive, “Need you in me.”  
  
He’s pretty sure he could come off that alone. Percival growls, glancing at Jacob for a moment before Queenie catches his attention again. Her index finger hooks underneath his chin, thumb brushing against silvery stubble.  
  
“It ain’t up to him. I want you in me.”  
  
Percival doesn’t have to be told twice, conjuring oil with a whispered spell and taking himself in hand. It’s ecstasy. His head falls back when he thumbs the head of his cock, nail dragging against the slit before dragging all the way to the base. Queenie watches for a moment before her desire overwhelms her. She crawls into Percival’s lap, thighs on either side of his, and takes him.  
  
“Don’t be gentle,” Queenie orders.  
  
Percival complies. As soon as she’s fully seated – a hot, tight heaven around him, Graves launches himself forward, taking Queenie to the bed. She yelps but the sound falls into a drawn out moan when he finds that little place inside her again.  
  
“Fuck, yeah,” Graves growls. Picking up a brutal rhythm, he has to hang on to her to stop her from sliding across the sheets. Behind him, he can hear Jacob swearing, can hear the man wrapping his hand around his cock, stroking in time to Percival’s thrusts. It only spurs him on, only makes him want it more. It’s been so god-damned long, and Queenie feels so good. They’re one giant feedback loop – growing off each other.  
  
Graves trails a hand down Queenie’s body again, pressing forward to circle that place where his cock is fucking into her, before Graves finds her clit and rubs. Queenie’s entire body jolts, her features pinching like she’s in pain. The cry that leaves her isn’t even human. So he does it again, and again, and again, keeping pace and leading her down the path to the brink.  
  
“Fuck – fuck – Percy!”  
  
When she comes, it’s with a breathless shriek. Graves swears loudly, stilling inside her. His flanks heave, heart hammering so hard he thinks it might break his ribs. He’s so, fucking, close, but he _can’t_. Absently, Graves traces Queenie’s nub with his thumb, drawing out the little aftershocks that have her pulsing and moaning softly.  
  
“You didn’t come,” Jacob finally says, lazy with his own end. The chair squeaks when he gets up, and there’s a rustle of fabric before he’s a warmth pressed against Percival’s side. Graves grits his teeth, pulling in a heavy breath through his nose.

“’S’okay, baby,” Queenie murmurs. When she sits up, his cock slips free, bobbing against his belly. Queenie takes him in hand, leaning forward until her lips press against his. Graves can taste the alcohol on her breath and realizes this is the first time they’ve kissed tonight. It’s surprisingly intimate. Percival gasps into Queenie’s mouth while she strokes him, hard and fast and rough, like he’d fucked her. Pleasure builds quickly, waves that grow bigger and stronger until they swamp him, leaving him ragged and struggling to breath on shore. Graves comes with a drawn out groan and Jacob’s fingers pressed between his cheeks, circling his hole.  
  
In the aftermath, Graves finds himself caught in some sort of limbo. They’re all sated and tired and probably more than a little buzzed, but he can’t seem to settle. His brain is a constant repeat of _now what_. It’s high and whiney like the needle getting caught on a record. And Jacob, bless him, seems to grasp Percival’s internal struggle. One powerful forearm loops around Percival’s waist, fingers hooking into the opposite hip, before Graves finds himself dragged into a warm chest.  
  
Jacob smells like the bakery – like sugary promises from Percival’s childhood. It’s a happy scent, and he tentatively buries his nose, inhaling. It helps settle him too; that and Queenie’s fingers stroking through his hair, her nails against his scalp but the movements gentle. Percival finds himself lulling off, his worries fading like ships slipping from a misty harbor. He’ll have to deal with whatever this is in the morning, but for now he lets himself enjoy.  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave your thoughts! Constructive criticism is welcome!


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